


The Time That Jehan Went on a Date with Robert Frost.

by Magnus_Babe



Series: The Three Times Jehan Prouvaire Was Fucked by Love and the One Time Things Worked Out. [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: BPD, BPD Character, Cigarettes, Funny, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Mental Illness, Slight Transphobia, Terrible dates, it turns out ok i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnus_Babe/pseuds/Magnus_Babe
Summary: Jehan decides to take R's advice and stop going to sports bars to meet people. However their date doesn't go as planned and Bahorel has to save them from a grim fate at the hands of their date, who they renamed "Robert Frost."





	

**Author's Note:**

> !!! My third Les Mis fic in a series of four about Jehan !!!
> 
> There's still not enough love for my small genderfluid child.
> 
> Scream at me on tumblr!: pastel-prouvaire.tumblr.com
> 
> roleplay w/ me on tumblr ;): timid-in-repose.tumblr.com
> 
> Alternatively; Join chezlesmis-rp.tumblr.com

Jehan was going to kill themself. Not even in a simple or pretty way; they were going to put a gun in their mouth and pull the trigger or throw themself off a cliff and onto a bed of sharp rocks.

Okay. So maybe they wouldn’t, but the point is that it was going to be a grisly death and they were never ever going to take Grantaire’s advice on dating ever again. 

Things had started out fine-- great, even. Julien was good looking. Tanned skin, a beautiful smile that suited such nice eyes, and he wasn’t all too handsy. And when Julien approached Jehan after a poetry event at one of their favorite cafes asking for their number; they hadn’t said no.

However, now they were starting to regret that choice that led to their current situation. 

Sure, he was good looking, but dear lord, that did not make up for the fact that he was boring.

It started with the fact that he refused to change the conversation topic from poetry. He casually dodged all questions Jehan asked to try and make him possibly change the damn topic to something other than all the poetry he wrote but somehow it always just seemed to egg the guy on as he recited some 200 year old stanza somewhat relating to the subject. 

It wasn’t that it was bad poetry. It’s just that after about forty-five minutes of realizing that someone only ever describes long blonde hair, pale slender hands, and freckles in their poetry… well, they began to realize why they had been asked on this date. 

“Jean.” 

Jehan flinched at the name, their eyebrows scrunching together as they looked up from their drink. “...What did you just call me?” they asked, almost astounded by the fact that Julien even knew their birth name. 

“That’s… your name, right? I don’t understand why you lied to me about your na-”

“Only- a few people are allowed to call me Jean. And even then, they’re normally upset with me.” Jehan said, their voice no longer hitting it’s normal softness; edging towards the tone they took when they were upset and needed to get a certain point across. 

“Ooo-kay then. Whatever, it doesn’t matter-- like I was saying--”

Jehan didn’t bother to tune into what they were sure was going to be another spiel on the poetry book their terrible date was working on. They instead turned their head away and rubbed their eyes, trying to play off the scoff they had let loose. 

“I mean- I really love the classic poets. I think that Robert Frost and Shakespeare were… huge… huge inspirations for my book,”

‘Jesus fucking christ,’ they thought to themself as they tugged at their hair, their eyes wide. They were going to have to find a way to get the fuck out of there. 

Glancing around the room desperately, they started to grow frantic, tapping their foot lightly on the floor as Julien droned on, basically background noise at this point. However, just when they had doomed themself to an eternity of terrible poetry and, what was soon going to be tears, they heard a familiar laugh ring out.

Jehan didn’t think they’d ever been so thankful to see Bahorel and Grantaire walk into a bar in their entire life. However, they weren’t exactly safe yet; they still had to figure out how to get the attention of their two friends before anything could really happen. 

Thinking quickly Jehan turned their gaze back to Julien who had a smile on his face as he finally stopped talking about their poetry to lock eyes with the blonde poet sitting across from him. 

“You know… You’re such a good listener. I think,” he paused to reach across the table and take Jehan’s hand, “--you’re my new muse.”

Jehan fucking screamed. It wasn’t a normal scream either, they fucking shrieked. The shrill sound rung throughout the bar, which thankfully included Bahorel and Grantaire who looked utterly confused until Bahorel locked eyes with Jehan and leaned down to whisper something to Grantaire. 

“What the fuck, Jean?” Robert Frost asked, making the blonde flinch. 

“...Thought I saw a bee,” they lied, faking a laugh as they took a sip of their drink, tugging their hand back as they did so. 

“...Right.” Julien-- or as Jehan was now secretly calling him, Robert Frost-- said.

Lost in the fact that this person they’d had only known for a few hours was now calling them Jean, they hadn’t notice Bahorel walk up behind them until a protective hand was on their shoulder. 

“Well. This is something to talk about when we get home. Huh, honey?” Bahorel’s words dripped with bitterness in a way that made Jehan look questioningly at their friend before they realized exactly what was going on. 

“Hah-- I, uh.... I didn’t expect you to be here tonight,” they supplied, looking anxiously between the two men, as though they had been caught in a lie. 

“Jean,” Julien started, making Jehan flinch and Bahorel’s jaw clench. “What’s… going on here?” 

Jehan swallowed hard and offered a nervous smile, their hand going to grab Bahorel’s lightly. “Right… About that- this is my... “ 

“Boyfriend. I’m her boyfriend.” Bahorel bit out, the pronouns feeling weird on his tongue but he was sure that this guy wasn’t getting the whole ‘fluidity’ thing and Bahorel really wasn’t about to use male pronouns when Jehan was flinching just from hearing their birth name. 

“Wait… I thought you-?” Julien trailed off looking back and forth between the two before he let out a gruff annoyed noise. “No. Of course not. I never found it easy to identify a slut.” 

At that point Jehans jaw completely dropped and they lifted up a hand to cover their mouth. They had been called a fair amount of dirty words but ‘slut’ wasn’t typically one of them, especially in such a genuine context. 

The pair watched in mutual shock as Julien got up and shoved his chair back into the table and stalked off. Jehan clutched at Bahorel’s arm as they watched him leave freezing when Julien turned back around and shouted. “And you could have never been my actual muse!”

The second the man actually stepped out of the bar Bahorel broke into a fit of laughter. “What the shit did he just say?”

“Bahorel, I’m gonna fucking scream,” Jehan stated firmly as they tried to stop their laughing, gripping at Bahorel’s arm. 

“Don’t- if you scream he’ll come back in and try to rescue you,” Bahorel said back as he clapped his friend on the back. “Plus, I’d think you're all screamed out by now.”

“I don’t think you understand what you just saved me from,” Jehan sighed as they rubbed their eyes, all but throwing themself across Bahorel as he finally took a seat.

Grantaire finally taking the time to come sit down, setting their glasses on the table, looked over the pair with a snort. “So. Romeo wasn’t really Romeo?” he asked settling in his seat and taking a swig of his drink. 

“I’m never. Ever. Ever, taking dating advice from you again,” they muttered as the reached for their flat mates wine, getting their hand smacked in the process. 

“Tell us about it. Also, I got you a glass after Bahorel walked over; if you’d sit up you’d see it.” R said, patting the blonde’s back. 

Jehan perked up immediately, crawling over Bahorel to squish themself in between the two men to inspect the third glass sitting on the table. 

“More importantly; tell us why you screamed bloody murder in the middle of a crowded bar.” Bahorel all but demanded as he slung his arm across their shoulders. 

“Okay. Well-... There’s a lot of backstory to that but I’ll shorten it up.” 

“Thank god.” 

“Shut up. Anyways. I met him last night at that one poetry club I go to every Friday. He seemed nice enough and we talk right?”

“Well, I’d assume you’d talk.”

“Shut up. Okay. So we get out on the actual date and I swear to god this guy has no personality outside of liking poetry, but only like… Robert fucking Frost and Shakespeare and-”

“I thought you hated Robert Frost,” Bahorel spoke this time and Jehan pulled a bitter face. 

“I do. So, he won’t stop turning every question or sentence into a reason to recite a stanza of some of his free-verse poetry-” 

“God… Who does that sound like? Bahorel, do you know who?”

“R, I will actually murder you in your sleep.”

“Jehan, continue,” Bahorel urged. 

“Right. So. Anyways. Back on topic. He spent forty-five long terrible minutes spouting bad poetry about long blonde haired, pale people with freckles and it took me three stanzas of said poetry to figure out ‘hey… maybe this guy has a type.’” Jehan paused to take a sip of their wine and breathe before they continued. “So. It’s almost been an hour, he hasn’t let me get a word, and while he’s talking about his poetry book that is inspired by Robert fucking Frost and Shakespeare-”

“You’re fucking joking.” 

“I am dead serious. He reaches across the table, and tells me I’m his new fucking muse and I screamed,” Jehan finished casually, putting Bahorel in a fit of laughter as Grantaire just looked awed. 

“You’re making this up, you have to be making this up,” Grantaire finally said shaking his head in disbelief. 

 

“I wanted to die for a solid hour dearest. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.” Jehan said shaking their head as they grabbed their purse. “Anyways. I need… A cigarette.” 

“You want me to come with you?” Bahorel asked as Jehan shimmied their way under the booths table and stood up, making their way towards the back door. 

“I’ll be fine. Thank you though!” they smiled before pausing in their steps and running back to press a kiss onto Bahorel’s lips. “And thanks for being a scary dude when you wanna be.” With that they took off once more, straight out the backdoor. 

“Love that kid.” Bahorel stated after a moment had passed and Grantaire chuckled, patting his friends back. 

“We all do.”

__________________________________

Once they had made it behind the bar, Jehan noted the presence of one other person, though they paid them no mind. Pulling out their cigarette pack, they were surprised to find that they didn’t have their normal mini lighter stored inside. 

Putting one between their lips they made a noise of confusion as they tried to find their lighter that normally sat in their pack but now was nowhere to be found. Letting out a noise of disbelief they smacked their hand against the brick wall and winced. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself, little bird,” said the person who had been just leaning up against the side of the building scrolling through their phone up until this point. 

Jehan made a bitter face before they shook their head with a sigh. “Don’t call me pet names,” they said as they dug around more in their bag. “You don’t know me.” 

“Maybe not,” the man said as he pulled out a lighter, slipping his phone into his back pocket as he did. “Here.” 

Jehan rose an eyebrow before humming and looking up at the man. “Pretty girls don’t light their own cigarettes.” They teased, putting the cigarette back between their lips and leaning forward. 

“Of course they don’t,” the man teased back, flicking the lighter at the tip of the cigarette, watching carefully as Jehan pulled back and blew the smoke out of their lips. “What’s your name, little bird?”

“...I told you not to call me that,” Jehan mumbled quietly, leaning against the wall of the building as well. “Jehan. My name's Jehan. And yours?”

“Montparnasse.” 

 

“Like the cemetery?” Jehan asked curiously, raising an eyebrow. 

“Exactly like the cemetery,” Montparnasse replied, a small smirk on his lips. 

“Huh. What’s your opinion on Robert Frost?” Jehan asked abruptly, making Montparnasse pull a bit of a strange face. 

“I don’t care enough about him to have an opinion,” he responded after thinking about it for a long moment. 

“Oh, thank god. Do you want my number?”


End file.
